Domino's Boss
by HowOdd
Summary: Domino is rising up the ladder in ElMarrow, and has finaly met Hector. But as he works more and more for the great man, trouble begins to arise. I suppose you'd call it Dominohector.
1. Office

_I own nothing but my dreams._

Domino's Boss

Domino Hurley could not help but smirk as he strolled down the corridor. Although he tried to keep his face expressionless as he winked at the secretary, and passed new co-workers who tried not to stare- not so easy with the huge aura of smug confidence he generated- the smile crept on to his face with all the stealth of a midnight assassin. And soon as he had shut the brown, windowless door of his office behind him, he laughed. He laughed until the tears ran down his skeletal face. Looking round the matchbox of a room they had put him in, he laughed even harder. Five long years in the land of the dead. Three long years working for Hector. One since he had actually met the man, and got out of his sub-sub-sub co-assistant manager of a tiny little project in some department that was in turn part of someone else's department, that was only a sub-department itself. One year since Hector's eye had caught sight of the figures under "profit" for Dom's little piece, and had summoned him up to his office.

"I am a rich man, Mr. Hurley…"

Eleven months, maybe ten-and-a-half, since he had earned his current position, which was happily high up the ladder, with plenty of footholds for further climbing. He was now only one sub away from being leader of the largest project, the main project of Hector's domain.

"But not nearly rich enough…"

A month, two, twelve. Soon enough, he would lead this project. He knew the current leader, a timid man with a mouth faster than his brain. He was now Hurley's boss, even in the eyes of the government. The head of department at the DOD. He was terrified of Hector, and, although the Fat Man loved the fear he saw in he eyes of so many, he despised that little slave.

"Not for what I want…"

But Hector liked Domino. There was no room for fear in his eyes; they had been filled with greed long, long ago. When he looked at Domino, he saw a man who had respect, but not too much. He saw trust, but just a little. Everything with a pinch of salt. He saw a man who could nod and raise his eyebrows simultaneously, a man who could perch on Hector's desk, and still call him Sir.

"And I always get what I want. I'm famed for it."

So now Domino was a glorified thief; stealing deaths for Hector. What a job. He looked great in a black robe, and he could really use his perfect, although somewhat unorthodox, people skills. And if he was ever stuck for motivation, there was always the fact he was now reaping -and, yes, pun intended- in two wages.

"I've seen your records…"

Domino was built of possibilities. He could be anyone,_ anyone_, everyone! He could be the richest man dead. He could be as brilliant, as rich, as Hector. He, too, could get what he wanted.

"I think you could help me."

Domino sat in his chair behind the desk, remembering. What had he said? What should he of said?

"Why, Mr. LeMans," a smile, a wink "certainly. You only have to ask."

What went unspoken? _Anything you want, anything you need. _Flirtations not quite admitted to.

So now, Domino only had to wait. Wait, and play his cards right with his real boss. Keep the right attitude. But come on! He was, well, he was him! How could anything, anything at all, possibly go wrong?


	2. Dreams

In the darkness, a man slept. His name was Domino, and he dreamt of success.

In the darkness, a man slept. His name was Manny, and he dreamt of leaving.

In the darkness, a man pretended to sleep. His name was Hector, and he dreamt all the same.

He too dreamt of success; and of leaving- although to him, they were one and the same. He dreamt of a wasted life, and a death he wouldn't let follow in its footsteps. And, although he tried not to, and although he didn't know why, he dreamt of Domino.

Because here was man he could admire.

How he hated the Land of the Dead. Not for any reason you would expect; not because it was a dead end for many; and certainly not because of the fearsome monsters. He hated it because of what it did to people. He saw them, every day, begging for mercy, for a few more months to pay off what they owed. And Hector could see it in their eyes, because they weren't just asking him for mercy; they wanted it in every area of their petty lives.

Death is never a pleasant experience, and, like all major rites of passage, it changed people. People were reminded of their mortality, and their beliefs challenged. Not everyone could go through all that and keep hoping. Hope is important, Hector knew that. It may seem stupid. But aspiration, determination, all of those things that get underqualified businessmen to the top of their game, they root from hope.

But the only hope you had when you were dead was the hope of getting the hell out of there.

And some had not even that.

You could be exceptional, and get a NN ticket. You could be good, and get a cruise, or a car. You could be poor and mean, and get an economy package. You could do something really bad, and get time to pay off. Or you could be damn right evil and get comfortable.

But then, you think about the unremarkable people. Those who go through their lives never really affecting anyone else. They work, but not amazingly hard. They have friends, and family, and are close, but… averagely close. These people are invisible. But almost everyone you know is probably one. They'll never harm, never help. They are normal.

Where do they fit in? What do they get? A walking stick, perhaps, or something like that. But their plain and boring lives could not prepare them for the forest. No travel agent could guide them through their four-year journey.

So, they stayed in El Marrow, or Rubacava if they were lucky and had beaten the beavers. And they knew, knew in their bones, that they had no chance, no hope, of making it any further. They were stuck, hopeless and average in the Land of the Dead.

Hector was so used to seeing people who worked for him to be like that. Dead, inside and out. But in Domino he saw the hope of a living man. Hope, and all it brought. He believed. And that was the problem. This guy could do great things for Hector, he could bring him right to the top, and even carry him into the ninth underworld. But he could do the reverse, too.

In Domino, Hector saw a man with fire in his belly. A man he could envy, or admire. A man who could be Hector's one and only weakness.


	3. criminals

The day Domino moved into his new office was the day before the night he first dreamed.

Oh, he had dreamt before, of flying books, and of himself. He had even dreamt, on many an occasion, of invariably surreal and attractive women. But this dream…

It could discount the others.

Because that night , he dreamt of Hector.

Or, more, the idea of Hector. That man _was _ambition for Domino, and he didn't need to have read Freud to know that it was purely symbolic. Probably.

But still, it was disturbing: the dream may not have been about sex, but there was an undeniable element of it in there. Undeniable. How could a dream consisting of being seduced by a fat man wearing nothing but a fedora not have anything to do with sex? But. As Domino told himself as soon as he awoke, it was symbolic! He was seduced by success. The recent promotion had reawoken the old feelings of ambition and flattery. It was funny. Hilarious.

In the morning, he walked to work, with the usual smug smile on his face, and waited. He understood the system already, and was a superb salesman. He had had to learn: when they promoted him, quickly and extensively, it had to be somewhat believable.

But not completely believable. Nothing about Domino was completely believable; his smile, his wit, his existence. Women did not fall in love with Domino. More often than not, they hated his guts. He was everything a man shouldn't be: too smart, too boastful, and too… something. No, women did not fall in love with Domino. They loved him from the second they were born.

It would be suspicious if he were imperfect in any way, other than through his perfections. It would be suspicious if he was not promoted with a big flourish, if he didn't achieve more in a week than they did in the rest of their lives.

Hector saw this, and planned around it. He loved it. In every other plan he had to appear kind, good-natured, even to the ones who knew the plans. But in this one, with Domino, the best plan was to scream it: "I'm a crook!". Because Domino oozed dishonesty, and any man so honest about his dishonesty must, in fact, be honest.

But when it came down to it, it amused Hector to be so open, and now he had someone to laugh with. It's no coincidence that both cream and scum float at the top, and Domino and Hector were the scum de la scum. Officially, they were business partners. Unofficially, they were like minds.

Criminals do not tend to have "friends" , as such. They have people they treat as friends, sure, and all kinds of associates, and partners, and lovers. But friends, no. They suspect anyone befriending them to be attempting at a guard-drop manoeuvre, and they have heard the philosophy of "keep your friends close, and your enemies even closer". At the end of the day, for criminals, it is often hard to tell between the two.


	4. Drunken

There is always a reason for one to stay in the land of the dead: no-one can say "It's a nice place."

For most who stayed, it was simple lack of choice. They were the ones who hoped, vaguely or desperately, to get through one day.

For others, it was disbelief. There were thousands of legends and rumours surrounding the passage into the ninth underworld, and too many revolved around the fiery demons people had seen shake from its tracks.

For yet others, it was lack of necessity: they sought only happiness, and had achieved that here. They might go through one day, but only if and when they wanted to.

Domino did not fit into any of these categories. He didn't know himself why he chose to stay. But the LotD offered a strange form of immortality, and that was what he had always wanted. His family had been a poor one, living in poverty enough to make them hungry, but not quite enough to kill them. But the ache in Dom's stomach was so much more than hunger: it was hatred, of poverty, and of his family for, as it seemed to him, not doing anything about it. He vowed to never be the same and when the chance came up to earn money, serious money, his thoughts turned not to the morals.

He had his first gun at fifteen; killed someone not a year later. He discovered a morbid talent for it, but stopped at the first opportunity: he didn't enjoy murder. He was laughed at for this, this lack of pleasure at what seemed the second-most natural source for so many of his peers. But the laughter stopped when they heard what his new job was. And when he died, aged twenty-three, the silence continued. They shouldn't have been surprised: people died all the time, especially with his job, and they were used to it. But Domino… They somehow didn't expect him to die. He wasn't the dying type.

Hector was never told this story, but he heard hints of it. Sometimes Hurley would stay in his offices a little too long, drink a little too much, and they would talk of deaths, or Dom's death, and the lives that preceded them, or Dom's life, at least: Hector did not get drunk, did not like to talk of himself. He was tempted, sometimes, when Dom was there. But instead he sat, and listened. Listened to tales he believed, easily. He too had been in crime, and although he was at the top, he still heard the stories carried from the bottom.

On one of those nights, Domino told him the errand he had been on that had led to his death. It was melodrama worthy of a movie, but Hector had heard it before.

Many times before.

Because it was a tale of nothing much, other than rivalry at the top expressed by deaths at the bottom, a sort of morbid memo. And when he added up dates, locations, heard descriptions, he chuckled.

He had ordered the death of the man he now sat with while he listened to drunken tales.


	5. Sale

The revelation surprised Hector, but did not shock him. He didn't need to worry. At the very worst, Domino would figure it out, and Hector'd lose a friend. Not even a worker: Domino was on contract. He wouldn't lose money, or NN tickets. Just a few enjoyable moments, and the one person who understood what it was all about, understood him.

Ah. So, perhaps there would be a problem. But only if Hurley was smart enough, and without any of the figures Hector knew, it'd be hard, and more of a lucky guess- correct but without proof- than knowledge. 

Meanwhile, Domino's dreams were not going away. He was seduced, intoxicated and spellbound by success and aspiration, but increasingly he awoke filled with strange desires. He enjoyed his time with his boss, at least he did the bits he remembered, but they didn't- he didn't- they weren't like that.

He didn't dwell on it for long; he was thankfully busy. He liked being a salesman, and he was really, really good at it. This would have worried him, if he weren't Domino, but as he was, he simply let himself enjoy it.

A sale was like an orgasm. The build up of words until the moment, that Hurl could always recognise, when the customer would believe, in his still heart, that he needed this package, this ticket. The one thing Domino did worry about was, is this the satisfaction of an honest day's work? The work was not honest, of course, he was a glorified thief. But it was as honest as anything Dom had ever done. Most of his jobs had involved guns, and men someone somewhere didn't like. He thought, is it because I know I'm conning them? Is it the trickery, the honest smile, the steady gaze?

Well , matter not, because as the weeks went by, filled with nothing but routine- work, drink, Hector, small promotion- the initial delight began to subside, until he was filled with little other than cynical pleasure at simple, old-fashioned, trickery. He moved rooms, finally, and said goodbye to the store cupboard. He run his eye sockets over the stained glass door, the view, the desk (with draws!), the carpet, and the opportunity it stunk of. He met, not for the first time, but for the first memorable time, the man who suffered demotion for every promotion of Domino's , punishment for every reward. Calavera. Good salesman, complete sucker. Emotional: Dom saw the hatred in his eyes, and instead of clenching his fists to mach good ol' Manny's, he grinned, from cheekbone to cheekbone.

"Hey! Calavera! I've heard so much about you"  
"Yeah, and you'll hear a lot more. Feel it, too, if your sale's as fake and empty as your smile." "Aw! That hurts!" He ignored the temptation, and left it there. Domino had a million answers on his airy tongue. Many of them revolved around the promotion. Some of them would result in Manny's unconsciousness. None of them left his imagination, yet. There'd be time enough.

Too much time. Months, even a year. Once, when he wasn't too drunk, but drunk enough to be brave, Domino had asked Hector what was in store for him.

Hector had laughed (why had Hector laughed?).

Hector stayed silent (why did Hector stay silent?).

Hector poured Dom another drink (why did Hector pour Dom another drink?).

And he had said, while Domino hid his tipsy outrage, that there was nothing to worry about. Hector'd let him know before promotion. And it'd happen.

Domino did not doubt that this was the truth. He was a good liar, and although Hector was a better one, Dom couldn't help but feel that he wouldn't lie, couldn't lie, to him. He sure knew he could never lie to Hector. 


	6. Drunken, again

Drunken revelations were too huge a part of Domino and Hector's relationship. It was often that Hector worked something out, as he probed Domino for information, decoding deep meaning underneath the slurred speech. He knew, now, how their lives and not just their deaths had intertwined. He worked, night after night, on finding out more: had they ever met? Was there anything Domino knew that could decode the assassination of Hector? And then, when Hector finally surrendered to the alcohol, who had stolen Amanda? Domino knew nothing about the latter- although he was too drunk to care, he had been dead before Amanda had met Hector - and very, very little about the former.

All he knew is that he longed, so much, for those evenings, and despised them so much when he was there, that he drunk until he did not know, nor care, why he was there. He was glad Hector had started drinking. He didn't drink every night, and rarely got drunk, but it made Domino feel more comfortable to see the glass of amber liquid in his boss's hand. And when that sweet, warm, acidic beauty had poured down Hurley's throat, his words flowed like the wine from the bottle.

One night, a night when Hector stayed sober, those words condemned him. "I hate you," he had said. He had meant it, and yet, hate was the wrong word. "I hate you, Hector, I don't know why I'm here, I hate you, but I need you. God, Hector! Where are you?" Domino didn't know what he meant, although he wasn't as drunk as you might think, or as he later wished. But Hector listened, too much, and heard something he didn't want to.

Domino loved him.

Hatred was nonsensical. Domino had gotten drunk enough before for Hector to know that wasn't true. But, "I need you…" Well, that could be money, or career, but it wasn't. "Where are you?" was a strange one. But as far as Hector could tell, it meant that in a way, they were not together, in a room; they were such businessmen, ignoring themselves and each other.

Domino was in love with Hector.

It was undeniable.

Hector was alarmed, terribly, and somewhat flattered, and, somewhere under the heaving mounds of bone and cloth, he felt a strange fluttering he barely remembered from life, when he knew Amanda.

It is only when we are in love that we truly hate. What hurts more than love that is ignored by oneself, or one's object of desire? Love is strong, powerful, and if ignored, it ferments deep inside one until it becomes unbearable: buried love is pain. And love is weakness. We hate those who weaken us, so we hate those we love. We are scared of them; they alone can reach us, hurt us.

Poor Domino, In love with the most powerful man in the Land of the Dead. Poor Domino, Buried beneath his love as well as six feet of soil. Poor, stupid Domino. He had finally, finally, shown Hector his weakness; finally given LeMans a chance to break him. 


	7. Power

_Sorry this has taken so long. I have my reasons, I promise._

It is the secrets we hide from ourselves that can destroy us if they ever become apparent to another. For while Hector now knew every dark secret about Domino, he himself would never believe them to be true. Nor did he have any suspicion that Hector knew. In this way, Hector now had immense power over the one man who had once had any chance of overpowering the overweight crime lord.

He could control parts of Domino's mind that Hurley didn't even realise existed.

In the slow and heavy darkness of another lonely night, Hector grinned.

He was used to power, he understood it. And so the creeping fear that had been so thrilling in his relations with Domino, the fear of being defeated, died. The man posed a threat no more.

And what power it was. In how many ways could he exercise it? The revelation of the knowledge, which may or may not drag Domino down into dark depths of guilt and shame and desire; blackmail, for homosexuality was not smiled upon in these circles and could leave him ruined; seduction, as a method of persuasion; flirtation, to drag him further into the spiral of love and work.

He did not even have to act on his power. Domino's attraction, Hector knew, would keep him loyal, as long it lasted.

He could be powerful, infinitely powerful, without really doing anything. He closed his eyes, and imagined himself, happy, crossing into the next world. Domino following, perhaps, perhaps still stuck. What does it matter?


	8. Sexuality

It was not long before Domino's drinking spiralled out of control. It was not before he began to seduce and drink and fuck his way around El Marrow. Women, each night, were what he told himself he sought. Men, and an aching head, were what he found upon awaking more and more often.

So each morning, he blamed it upon alcohol. He never realised that drink does not change you, merely amplify who you really are, and force you to stop being who you pretend to be. In alcohol, then, Domino found truth.

And in alcohol, he lost it. For drunkenness is a wonderful lie to hide behind, and served a fine pretence for Mr. Hurley, who was now high enough up the ladder for a fall to hurt. He knew, somewhere, that he was wrong, that every time he denied himself the luxury of truth and instead provided alcohol, he died a little bit more. Hector had admired him for his living man's soul. But slowly, it was decaying.

Hector did not care if he lost a friend. But he cared if he lost a resource, and Domino was invaluable. Hector had valued him for his living man's attitude, which was ultimately the root of his talents. As this disintegrated, Domino became more and more like every other lost soul wandering around El Marrow: broken, terrified, and self-hating.

Where once there was an excelling, ambitious, amazing, arrogant employee whose skills and confidence Hector almost envied, now there was a shell of a man whose sales methods simple didn't work anymore. Perhaps that it was that he now stank of guilt, which can kill both crooks and salesmen, or perhaps it was that his once beautiful smirk that he used to accompany with a seductive wink was now just a hollow grin.

Hector could not let the entire project fail because of one man, much less one's man desire. So one night, when Domino came up to Hector's private rooms, Hector drank too much too, and seduced Domino.

Oh, reader, I will spare you the details. It is enough, I think, to say that Domino cried for the first time in years when it was over, and that Hector, as sobriety descended and Domino left, that perhaps he had not made the most sensible decision he could have.

Persuading a man who is in denial about his very sexuality to have sex with the very one causing all the doubt; involving a man who is destroying himself in a relationship that could turn out to be even more destructive; telling a dead man who loves you that he can have an outlet for desire he will not admit he has. A good decision?

Hector never hid anything from himself; he knew that if he did, it would be inevitable that he would never know about some of his best ideas. So now, lying there with a cigarette, he asked himself why he really did it. The answer surprised him.


End file.
